


Harrenhall

by cortchuzska



Series: Of suns and roses [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Harrenhall tournament, Oberyn thinks he is the only sane man, and tries to thwart doom, but no one listens him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Ties

Everybody regarded Oberyn Martell as rash, sharp-tongued, and even treacherous, while Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was thoughtful, considerate, and reputable. In spite of their differences, they got along well, since the wedding of Prince Rhaegar and Oberyn's sister, when the reigning Dorne Princess sent his son to the Mad King court to protect frail Elia.

Oberyn seethed with eagerness for life, and would lighten Prince Rhaegar's melancholy shadows; bookish Rhaegar matched knowledge thirsty Prince of Dorne; he was as well passionate for competition, and they met in lists, tilted their spears, and quickly grew close friends. Too close.

\--o--

His sister Elia had summoned him to her apartments.

“I'm childless, you see.”

Poor, frail Elia.

“What did maester Pycelle say?”

“There is nothing a maester can do for me.”

Poor, frail Elia. Her eyes were so sad.

“But you could.”

Her eyes were so sad, her voice so determined.

“Prince Rhaegar shuns my bed. He thinks I'm too frail to bear his children.”

Poor, frail Elia. Her eyes were so sad, her voice so determined.

“I will do anything to help you, sister. Should I take him by the hand and lead him to your bed? I can't bear Rhaegar's children for you. ”

Was he still waiting for a sister? To join Dorne to their Kingdoms, the Targaryens didn't fuss much about 'keeping the bloodline pure'.

“You ought to take my place in Rhaegar's bed: if he could behold me in your reflection, he will hopefully see I'm not that frail.”

Oberyn startled.

“He's Targaryen; he is into that sort of things. I'm your sister; you said you would do anything for me.”

Poor, sad Elia.

“You swore to Dorne ruling Princess, our mother, to protect me. I'm your older sister; I'm bidding you. You are close friends already. You shall become closer. ”

Poor, sad Elia. Her voice so commanding. Not that frail at all.

\--o--

He had already tried to prevail on him, in the Iron Throne Room, while Rhaegar was proudly displaying his family collection.

“We shouldn't have mingled. Our dragons decayed to smaller, stunted poor things, since King Daeron II married your Princess.”

“Wise man. We were not frightened by them and your dragons were of little use to conquer Dorne: Dornish girls are nothing like Northerners, and only a dreamer like you would fancy a heap of dusty skulls, bones, and ashes over the flesh of a living one.”

“Only a Targaryen.” Rhaegar corrected him, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Why did you marry Elia then?”

“To beget an heir to the Iron Throne.”

The Targaryens didn't abide by smallfolk rules, thought naught of logic, and Oberyn had to find in himself enough common sense not to slap a Crown Prince.

His sister might have been right.

\--o--

The tease of his friend's fine long hair grazing softly on his chest tightening muscles was almost enough to drive him over the edge. He hauled himself up on his elbows to plead hushedly at his ear “Please, Rhae,” in a voice hoarse with urge, “I just can't” but Rhaegar pushed a single hand on his shoulder and pinned him with a wicked glint in his purple eyes. He would have him begging. Oberyn tried to master again his ragged breath, but Rhaegar forcefully kissed him, sucked his lower lip, and nibbling at his lobe whispered “Elia” with a finishing stroke.

  
  



	2. The Silver Harp

Young and inconsiderate Oberyn was desperately trying to save his younger and much wiser brother-in-law from the foolishest mistake in his life.

“My sister Elia never begrudged you any affair.” He paused. “Nor did I.”

But that was no usual affair.

“You quite often joined the party, actually.”

“Aye. As of now, I am the only party.” Oberyn was not a man to be easily dismissed. “She his a high born lady, and betrothed to Robert Baratheon.”

“She is beautiful.”

The poet in Rhaegar should know better than such commonplace niceties.

Long pale face, thin lips, dark brown hair, grey eyes; long eyebrows; not too tall, lithe frame. Wolf blood through and through. Not Cersei Lannister’s striking looks, nor the Tully girls’ aristocratic beauty. Not really worth a second glance – not even a first one, in Oberyn's opinion – hadn’t she been such a Great House lady. He had a taste for sultrier women: what the Seven Hells did Prince Rhaegar see in her?

He lazily yawned. “Some sort of austere beauty.” High born ladies were supposed to be chaste and beautiful, as high born gentleman were supposed to be fearless and proud, and minstrels would sing their virtues. Lyanna of House Stark had fit the valiant knight part _beautifully_ , and this was well worth a ballad. Feats that he hoped no one would ever put down in verses.

“Do you think I should name her my Beauty and Love Queen, if I ever win the tourney?” He teased Rhaegar, who propped on his elbow and laughed, leaning back his head, his silver hair like a flowing stream shimmering in the sun.

He refrained from threading his fingers through it. Most would tritely compare Prince Rhaegar's hair to his harp silver chords; to Oberyn it was like a wavering illusion of water glittering in Dorne deserts, as deceitful and as compelling.

“Can’t you remember you’re out? Unhorsed by the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and that should stop you babbling about dull dolls up North, with no character, no colour, no pith...”

Lyanna Stark had way more than personality.

“She is the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and your father want him dead, do _you_ remember?”

Rhaegar, he guessed, was excited by her tomboyishness. Once Oberyn said him he liked women looking like a woman and men looking like a man, though a threesome with her could be intriguing. Prince Rhaegar had different tastes, revelling in subtler shades – fine tuning his harp, he called it – and Lyanna Stark positively stirred his blood.

Customary brother and sister intermarrying had made the Targaryens keen on shifting variations. Ashara and Arthur Dayne, for instance, with their violet eyes, so similar in colours to the Targaryens themselves; or the almost identical Lannister twins. He knew how much the wedding with Cersei had thrilled Prince Rhaegar, not only for her glorious beauty, but mostly for the alluring chance of closely comparing her to Jaime. To Rhaegar's regret, his father's relations with Tywin Lannister were a twisted mix of envy and scorn; the Mad King grudged his Hand's power, still feared it, and on occasion belittled him: so the expected marriage was rejected and Oberyn's sister favoured. Whatever Rhaegar felt for him was to some extent – more than Oberyn cared to acknowledge - due to his closeness to Elia, - or was it the other way around? - even if the Prince marriage didn't rely on passion.

They were instead thoughtful considerate people who could keep up appearances. Prince Rhaegar would play new love tunes on his harp as an alleged praise to Elia only, when they would address to other ears, jousted like her kiss was the only tourney prize worth winning, and in every respects behaved like a ballad knight would, showing her respect and affection, charming as ever. Nothing was ever rumoured about Elia, a most unusual thing for a Dornishwoman, in prudish and intrigues laden royal court: Oberyn would have cut the first throat uttering anything about her. They were just like the perfect couple they were supposed to be.

“I'll protect her.”

“How?”

“I'm seeing her tonight, at Harrenhall Godswood.”

Oberyn tried to stifle an uneasy inner voice. If Lyanna was a Stark, she would turn him down; if she was smarter – he understood damsels didn't usually meet knights at dark in a lonesome wood, just to say no – she would engage in a secret affair that would be over in a fortnight, and that Robert Baratheon wouldn't even notice. High born ladies were told to loose their maidenhood to their horses rather than their wedded lords, something almost unheard of in Dorne, sand steeds having such a soft pace. By the wild way she rode, Lyanna Stark could well have been one of the few who really did.

Still, his inner voice spelling danger was not quashed. It wasn't about anything she could do or say, but about Rhaegar himself.

“What kind of protection are you flaunting? To my naughty ears, it sounds rather like a tryst.”

Rhaegar didn't answer.

The inner voice screamed louder.

Lyanna Stark did worse than just inflaming Prince Rhaegar: behind long eyebrows, in her gaze lurked a shadow enthralling him.

No matter what she could do, Prince Rhaegar wouldn't easily take no as an answer; and it wasn't to be quickly over. Either way, he was contriving some unconsidered foolishness a less considerate man would never think of.

Oberyn had hoped for lust in his Prince's eyes, he saw only stern determination.

There was nothing more he could say.

 


	3. Dragon Blood

It was more than unconsidered. It was sheer madness.

A quip. His own lame quip: Oberyn was furious, mostly with himself.

Prince Rhaegar had won the tourney, and crowned Lyanna Stark – not his wife Elia – Beauty and Love Queen.

Did he realize? An openly womaniser Prince could not be a much severe problem, under other circumstances; it would even add some sort of mischievous allure to such a popular Prince as Rhaegar – if only circumstances were normal. His popularity, charm and gracious manners would not any more compensate for his father madness, for the more and more strained relationships with the Great Houses; far worse, he was heaping more grudges.

To top it all, Lord Tywin, whose steadfastness had been successfully managing the Seven Kingdoms for the past twenty years, resigned his King's Hand office in a blaze, bereft by the loss to the Kingsguard of his wonder Lion-cub, first-born and no longer heir Jaime, who took the White.

The present circumstances were the realm at the mercy of a madman's freaks and governed by the whims of two fifteen-year-old brats.

A real pity Lyanna Stark and Jaime Lannister - the Knight of the Laughing Tree and the youngest White Sword ever was a match made in Heaven - never met before, and did something stupid as every fifteen-year-old should, such as eloping or being caught sleeping together.

He held no illusions on the matter; within a couple of years, the Seven Kingdoms were to collapse. He had known the Mad King for some time now, and he had been fifteen; despite thoroughly and enthusiastically experimenting with every foolishness fitting the age, he never came close to destroy a realm.

“Rhaegar, are you mad?”

“I'm Targaryen.”

“That's real life, stop acting the ballad knight, as you were a nine years old boy.”

"How were you like, when you were nine, Oberyn?”

He couldn't help smile back at Prince Rhaegar compelling beam.

“I was a bit ... wild.” The words the reigning Dorne Princess used with his son were nowhere as meek. “Elia will mock me for those deeds to the end of my days.”

“I was a shy, quiet, lonesome bookish boy. No sister to play with.” Rhaegar's charming smile saddened.

His love interests would flare suddenly and turn into ashes as quickly. Would he be less restless, if he only had a sister-wife?

“So you're recovering past time lost, and making the Eights in the Great Houses: some Martells, a Stark girl, then the Lannisters twins, or the Tullys girls; what next: young Stannis Baratheon? You're putting the Seven Kingdoms at stake, and what for?”

“To protect her from my father.”

“Brilliant. The King would have quickly forgotten about her, if he even bothered noticing she was at the tournament. Now everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know, and remember. The remarkable feats at Harrenhal, the ones that minstrels will sing of, were the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and Lyanna Stark, the Queen of Love and Beauty. Of course, no sane man could devise a link.”

“She said she didn't want me to be ashamed of her.”

She said she didn't want to. To Oberyn, that was a no, loudly and clearly. He had always made a point about it: a no was a no, and if a girl was too shy to say yes, that was her problem, and none of his. He found annoying the way Northern ladies would say no when meaning yes; often with the worst timing, when he didn't feel like thinking. One of them threaded noes and moans while he was fingering her, and he briskly told her that a single aye would be enough, and if she couldn't say it, just stop lining noes; they were detrimental to his concentration. To Oberyn's astonishment, his lewdness and indecency heinous reputation greatly increased afterwards.

No matter what she muttered about honour and shame – she was a Stark, after all, and those were nadir and zenith to them - Lyanna didn't say 'yes', and she was anything but shy. Tomboyish as she was, she might as well like better a mighty warrior than a courtly poet, and rugged, sturdy Robert Baratheon was a fine specimen of the former.

But Prince Rhaegar was not used to noes: his name, his charming manners won him everything he fancied, and not even Oberyn could deny him anything. Still, Lyanna Stark did; stern, severe, icy cold she must have been. Frost bites more than fire, but a Dragon doesn't burn, and Prince Rhaegar had grown all the more determined.

“To show you're not ashamed of her, you put shame on your own House. You put shame on House Martell. You put shame on House Stark. You put shame on House Baratheon. House Arryn and House Tully will soon follow their resentments.”

“I didn't even kiss her fingertips.”

“You could as well fuck her on the Iron Throne, the whole Kingsguard standing, and beckon the Lannister novice to join in, just to add the last straw to the Lion back.”

As if we needed some other smart ideas. Oberyn, you'd better join the Silent Sisters.

Prince Rhaegar hummed 'the Dornishman's wife' tune.

“Jealous much?” He asked flashing his bewitching smile, but his violet eyes were brooding in forlorn depths. He was no more his friend, his brother, his lover, but an alien Dragon Blood Prince.

Oberyn pleaded for his duties to his children, his House, the Seven Kingdoms, to no avail. The Prince looked absent minded.

“A betrothal can be voided.”

“Not a children bearing marriage. Are you going to get more than one wife, like the Targaryens of old did with their sisters? You're already married, how can you hope to get Lyanna Stark?”

“You're not.”

Brother, wife, sister, brother in law: weren't they all the same lot, to Targaryens' eyes? Oberyn shuddered: was he expected to marry Lyanna in Rhaegar stead? Was Rhaegar thinking about exchanging wives? A threesome sounded fun; that sounded sickly.

Fuck high born ladies, fuck higher born lords. He would never marry and mess up someone else's life.

He asked his permission to leave. The Prince nodded.

There was no more to be said.

\--o--

There was still something to be done, though: take Elia and Rhaenys away from that Targaryen madness, and bring them home; raise her little girl the Dornish way, so that she could know real life. Oberyn would foil doom, so that his sister and his niece could escape Targaryens' destiny.

  
  



	4. Doom

“Elia, I don't know what's happening, that new foolishness of him. Either he's mad, or he willingly resolved to destroy Westeros. In both cases, you're coming back with me. I can see a winter storm coming.”

“That's my place. I don't flee.”

“Come back home, recover your health in sunny Dorne, and forget. Raise Rhaenys at the Water Gardens, with a lot of other children, with our brother's ones, with my own daughters. She'll grow up, and will choose who to play with, who to love, who to marry, a brother not being her only option.”

“She is Targaryen.” Elia stiffened up. “I belong where she belongs. But you must go, and not to Dorne: go to the Citadel and get yourself a chain, or further still, to the Free Cities, to the Summer Isles. Just stay away from that all.”

Her eyes were so sad, but her voice held the commanding note he heard in their mother, ruling Princess of Dorne. Once more, there was nothing to be said.

He obeyed. It was the last time he saw her.

\--o--

He knew the story of that Stark girl from the very beginning.

When everything was over, he couldn't help wondering if there was more about it than he had previously thought. Something his sister came to accept, something Prince Rhaegar wouldn't tell him.

He held all they keys, but there was no lock.

His sister and his Prince, his closest friends: he failed them. He felt betrayed by them; he felt like he betrayed them. Should he have stayed longer, should he have asked more?

Now, there was no one to ask.


End file.
